


Draconic Drivel

by Anonymous



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Anduin comments on Wrathion’s lack of finesse in an area of their relationship, who responds to this criticism with grace and understanding.Or not.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous





	Draconic Drivel

“And you say you found this where, exactly?”

Wrathion hums to himself as he turns over a small, weathered coin in his palm. Currency was no foreign object to him, but this little gem was a remarkable thing indeed. Instead of numbers, curious, glowing runes had been etched into the piece that sparked upon contact. He rolls the item back and forth in his hand, quietly delighting in the flickering glow.

“Off a Zandalari troll, your grace.” A nasally, sharp-eyed Goblin peers up at him with a thin smile. “Interesting, no? I brought it straight to you. Didn’t even get it appraised.”

_Liar_ , Wrathion muses, flicking the coin upwards before snatching it out of the air. “Well, it’s hardly new information,” he began, watching the miniature man’s floppy ears begin to droop. “However, I do find it interesting enough to take it in lieu.”

The Goblin’s sinking face split into a broad, cunning smile. “Your grace is kind and wise,” the man simpers, dipping into a low bow. “I’ll be sure to-”

“Do not!” Wrathion interjects loudly as the other falters. “Do not think I make a habit of such exchanges. I expect the next things you bring to me to have more value than this, and I do not expect you to spread this to others. You may go.”

The Goblin quickly lowers his head and skirts out the room, leaving muttered apologies in his wake. Wrathion sighs at his departure, head lolling to the left nod at a Blacktalon Worgen poised with a clipboard and quill. “Mark one off his tally, but make a little note to the side. Don’t want others getting ideas.” The watcher nods, bending to his task as Wrathion straightens up with a little yawn.

“When does Prince Anduin return?” he asks idly, wiping an imaginary speck of dust from his tabard. “I’ve noticed the tavern’s been pleasantly devoid of self-righteous idiocies today.”

The Worgen pauses, flicking over a sheet of paper as he raises his eyes to meet Wrathion’s bored gaze. “I believe he left for Dalaran this morning, your majesty.” The wolf seems to glance over previous notes before lifting his head and nodding again. “Yes, a short visit with his aunt. He said he’d return sometime this afternoon. Soon, judging by the sun.”

“She’s not his aunt,” Wrathion snorted, pushing himself up from his chair. “Very well. Send him to my room when he returns, I have business to discuss with him.”

“Of course.” The Worgen bends his head back to the paper as Wrathion crosses the room. A single hand had touched the the bannister before a jubilant shout pierces the inn.

“The Prince! Prince Anduin returns!”

“Well,” Wrathion muses after a short pause, placing his hands behind his back with an amused snort. “It seems my last order was unneeded.” He peers over the twisting railing as several Alliance guards file into the inn, humming to himself as a golden mop of hair enters his view. He turns away to smooth his tabard and adjust his turban before descending down the staircase.

“So the travelling circus returns,” he calls out, rounding the corner with a mischievous smirk upon his lips. “Honestly, Anduin, if you’re going to tramp in at all hou-” His voice peters off as his neck suddenly cranes upward, his face slackening with disbelief.

“Yes, hello to you too, Wrathion,” Anduin replies with a cheerful wave, his posture a bit sideways as the prince leans upon his gnarled cane. Wrathion ignores the gesture, eyes still glued upward on what appeared to be bookcase that had been somehow fused to the other prince’s back.

“You’ve ah, got something on you,” the dragon finally manages, knitting his brow as he points upwards.

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Anduin follows his gaze, nodding up at the cabinet towering above him. “A small enchanted library Jaina gave me to borrow. Do you think I could set it down somewhere? It’s light as a feather but a bit, ah, unwieldy.”

Wrathion stares mutely for a moment before nodding and motioning to the stairs. “Just… drop it in the study. It doesn’t get any bigger, does it?” He waves Anduin forward, climbing backwards up the twisting steps.

“No, I don’t think so.” Anduin leans upon his cane as he mounts the stairs with cautious movements and calculated strides, careful not to scratch the surrounding walls under Tong’s slightly terrified gaze. “It’s only a few specific books I requested.”

“Specific books? Whatever for?” Wrathion ushers him up the last flight as slowly as he can, immediately steering the other towards the corner of the room before backing away as quickly as he can. “Alright, just… set it down gently or however this goes.”

Anduin nods and reaches a hand up to tap the side of the bookcase twice. The bulky woodwork obediently begins drifting downwards, hovering a few inches from the floor. Without warning it drops to the ground with a tremendous crash that echoes throughout the inn.

Wrathion coughs and waves a hand at a puff of dust the impact had created. “Lovely spellwork,” he grunts, rubbing his nose irritably as Anduin abandons his cane to stand on tiptoe, pulling books from the shelves. “Now, besides giving our fair innkeeper downstairs a heart attack, what is the point of this again?”

Anduin dumps a pile of parchment atop Wrathion’s small desk as the dragon wrinkles his nose with displeasure. “I thought I’d learn a bit of Draconic,” Anduin remarked offhandedly, unrolling a scroll for a moment before tossing it onto the pile.

“Draconic? Whatever for?”

“Jaina invited me to dinner next week. She said Kalecgos might stop by, so I thought I’d study up a bit to make a good impression on him.” The prince shot Wrathion a brief smile before bending low to leaf through the lower shelves.

“I hardly think anyone on Azeroth doesn’t already have an impression of you, Anduin Wrynn. Besides, that Blue’s lips will be occupied with your ‘aunt’, not with meaningless Draconic drivel.” Wrathion leers down at the prince with a knowing smirk. “Do you think it’s as sloppy as I picture? I imagine he missed her face by a few inches the first time.”

“You don’t really have the right to mock anyone’s kissing,” Anduin remarks idly, reaching up to grab a weather-beaten novel above his head.

“What? Of course I do.” Wrathion pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing when Anduin doesn’t continue. “What did you mean by that?”

“Wrathion, you are an absolutely terrible kisser.” Anduin rapidly flips through the pages of his book as the dragon glares at him.

“Wh- I am not!”

“You are. You may actually be the worst I’ve ever had. Your teeth clack constantly against mine constantly and you’ve drawn blood from my lip multiple times,” Anduin replies as he snaps the book shut. “The first time you gave me a deep kiss I truly thought you were trying to eat my mouth.” The dragon feels his jaw gape slightly before he quickly snaps it shut, not wanting to give the human the satisfaction. 

“Well!” Wrathion snaps. “Aren’t we picky! My deepest apologies that my _terrible kissing_ offends such experienced lips.” An ugly sneer begins to contort his face as he glares the princeling down. “And how many kisses have you had, exactly, that place me last?”

“A few.” Anduin shrugs one lazy shoulder as he plucks another tome from the shelf.

“A few! What a free spirit our young prince is! How many is a few, dare I even ask?” Wrathion can’t hold back the impatience, the irritation creeping into his tone.

Anduin turns his head towards his companion, taking in the curled fists and narrowed eyes that bore into him accusingly.

“It’s absolutely none of your business,” he replies after a moment, a simpering smile upon his lips.

“Of course it’s my business! What if you- you caught some nasty human disease, hm? Do you intend to pass it on to me unwittingly?” Wrathion demands, his mood souring further at Anduin’s flippant tone as the prince putters about the room.

“I’m quite sure the tough little dragon is resistant to a few human sniffles,” Anduin snorts with a roll of his eyes. He leans over the wooden table to smooth a tattered scroll. “What would you like, Wrathion, a comprehensive list of everyone I’ve ever kissed?”

“That would be satisfactory. Or are there too many to tally?”

“Oh no, I’ll get right on that. Shouldn’t take more than a few hundred tomes to get it all down,” Anduin drawls, hunkering over the ancient parchment laid before him. His fingers trace along the runes etched into the paper as his brow furrows in concentration. He continues these motions in silence, pointedly ignoring the dragon’s grumblings from across the room.

“You should have told me,” Wrathion said finally, folding his arms stiffly as he glared at the floor.

“Told you what?” Anduin asks exasperatedly. “That I’ve been kissed? It’s in the past and it doesn’t matter now. Stop griping over nothing.” He lifts the scroll up and holds it out towards Wrathion, tapping the lower bit. “What does this say?”

The dragon peers at the sheet for a moment before turning his head away with a sneer. “ **Rikk soran xi enkil Maladath il tichar, karkun,** ” he recites dully.

“Tichar karkun…” Anduin repeats thoughtfully. “What does the phrase mean?”

“It means your accent is terrible and you should go use your _experienced lips_ on anything but Draconic.”

“You’re impossible,” Anduin snaps, promptly rolling the parchment back up and shoving it back in the cupboard. He straightens up to shoot Wrathion a disgusted look before grabbing his cane from the table and ambling to the stairs with a scowl. “If you won’t help me with this, I’m going outside.”

“Try not to tongue Tong on your way out – he’s a fragile soul,” Wrathion calls at the human’s retreating back, receiving only a very un-princely gesture in response.

—–

The rest of the day passed in a meaningless blur. Champions came and went, offering secrets at his feet or stuttered excuses why they hadn’t any more. As the latter became more and more frequent his mood worsened, doubled by the habitual glances at the empty chair across from him. Anduin had refused to enter the inn for several hours now, mucking about in the mud no doubt or whatever it was snotty little peace-loving humans did to pass the time. He drums his fingers irritably on the table as a gnome priestess kneels before him, offering a titan slab in her hands.

“Oh, get up,” he suddenly snaps, rising to his feet. “You’re small enough already, I don’t much feel like stooping further to- what is this?” He snatched the artifact from her trembling fingers, holding it aloft as he squinted at the etched markings. “Useless!” His fist clenched, cracking the slab before he threw it at her feet. “I ask for empirical secrets, and you bring me propaganda and drivel! Go out and **_try again!_** ”

He became distantly aware that his snarl had become a shout as the girl’s lower lip quivered, staring up at him with hurt and frightened eyes. She bends to grab a shattered fragment before a strangled whimper escapes her lips. She suddenly turns and chucks a smaller chunk at his head, the edge smacking him solidly between the eyes. He swears violently, hands slapping to his face as his vision momentarily blurs. He shakes his head and swears violently, forcing his eyes open to find an empty room. Only the distant pitter-patter of tiny feet and a muffled sob indicated where she’d gone.

Wrathion growls lowly, fingers reaching up to test the bruised flesh of his brow. His scowl deepens as he feels the beginnings of a bump beginning to grow – blasted priests. They’d caused him nothing but trouble today. His hand drops as Right’s bright head of hair appears on the stairs, composing himself as she peers over the railway.

“Is everything alright, my Prince? One of your champions left in a… distressed state.” Her sharp eyes flick over Wrathion’s form as he casually tugs the brim of his turban lower. “You are unhurt, I trust?”

“I am fine,” he grunts sullenly, shooing her away with a brusque wave of his hand. “Just – dismiss the remaining champions. I’m leaving for a bit.” He rises from his chair, smoothing his tabard and adjusting his gloves.

“I’ll fetch some guards to accompany you immediately,” Right replies, stooping into a quick bow.

“No!” Wrathion snaps. He snorts as she raises a single brow, a puff of smoke wafting from his nostrils. “I can’t deal with mortals right now. I am going alone.” He sighs to himself when her brow does not lower. “I am not going far.”

“As you say, my Prince,” she says finally, giving him a respectful nod before descending back down the stairs.

Wrathion peers around the room, clicking his tongue absently before his gaze meets the open window. Best to make a discreet exit – his guards would deal with the scorned champions. He drops to a crouch, smoke rolling over his form as his limbs shorten and taloned paws replace gloved hands. He flaps his growing wings experimentally, tail flicking the air as his body finishes its brief morph. Pleased, he waddles over to the windowsill and sinks his claws into the walls to hoist himself upwards. When his rear is firmly seated he pokes his noise through the opened spaces in the window, delighting in the cool, misty air that caressed his snout. With a pleased yawn he stretches his wings above his head and lazily hops off the ledge. He struggles briefly to stay aloft, wings beating frantically before he finally levels out to coast on a passing breeze.

He circles in the air like this for a few minutes, content to drift at the wind’s mercy above the twisting paths of the Veiled Stair. He swoops low, spooking a nearby goat before soaring upwards before it could turn his horns upon him – no point repeating a lesson he’d already learned weeks ago.

A glint catches his eye as the polished railing of Mason’s Folly comes into view. A few wing beats later he alights on the bannister, tucking his wings neatly as his claws find purchase in the curved edges of the rail. The evening sun shone beautifully over the mountaintops of the Jade Forest, piercing even the murky fog around him that threatened to swallow his view. It was times like this he treasured most, away from his complicated webs of deceit, his guards, even his material pleasures. The utter majesty of Pandaria pierced his heart with soulful beauty – the luscious verdant growth that cloaked every inch of the forest below, to the vermillion prairies of the Kun-Lai. Even the twisted, monochrome lands of the Dread Wastes held their own allure in a way. It didn’t matter if it was the black dragon in him or his own unique nature; he would protect all of it, as fiercely as he could. No matter the cost.

Wrathion stretches out lazily atop his perch, tail swaying lazily as he tucks his chin atop his paws and gazes out across the expanse before him. He passes almost an hour like this, staring at scenery before the sun begins to dip below the mountaintops, alerting him to how much time has lapsed.

With a tremendous yawn he pushes himself up, arching his back like a cat and scratching idly at his snout. Wrathion flaps his wings thrice before taking off into the air once more, meandering on the winds momentarily before pointing his nose back home.

A few minutes later he flops down atop the inn’s thatched roof, sliding slightly down the curved slope before scrambling up and away from the edge. He peers at the sky momentarily, taking in the brilliant orange hues slowly fading to pink. _Such a lovely evening_.

_Thock._

Wrathion blinks, suddenly alert. He glances around cautiously as his fins flare in warning.

_Thock._

Again. It was distant – not at his back, then. He lowers his guard slightly, creeping around the top of the roof as he swivels his head left and right.

_Thock._

He rotates his head, honing in on the source of the sound and he clambers over a wooden beam. _What is that?_

_Thock._

Wrathion leans over the edge of the roof, eyes widening then narrowing in understanding. Anduin stood below him, shoulders back and eyes forward with a small quiver of arrows upon his back. A twisted cane was propped beneath his arm, holding the boy upright as he peered at what appeared to be a crude target etched into the alabaster tree across from him. Sweat glistened on the human’s neck and brow and as Anduin lifted an impressive bow upwards, Wrathion could see the telltale watery beads dripping down muscled forearms as well.

He felt his lips wet as Anduin pulled the bowstring taught, an arrow nocked firmly atop straining fingers. After a few tense moments the human releases his grip and the arrow flies true, landing squarely in the target’s center with a familiar _thock_. A pleased sigh of relief followed as Anduin lowers the bow and leans against his crutch with a satisfied smile.

Wrathion murmurs in surprise above. So the priest was a makeshift marksman. Anduin’d never mentioned it before to him. _More things he’s hiding,_ Wrathion thought sourly, eyeing the arrow embedded in the tree. The impact point seemed a bit off the intended mark judging by the small rings the human had presumably carved. Wrathion shifts atop the roof, thinking to himself momentarily before he starts to clench his throat and lick his teeth. A burning heat began to grow in his chest and surges upwards through his throat, tickling the roof of his mouth. A few muffled coughs later he spits, a small ball of flame shooting past his lips and soaring above the prince’s head to strike the tree dead-center. Wrathion smirks as Anduin gave a tremendous start. The other’s head whips upwards to search what little of the roof he could see, but the dragon had already retreated out of sight.

After a few moments the whelp peers back over the edge. Anduin’s back was turned once more, studying the smoldering crater Wrathion had left with pursed lips. Finally, the human heaves a sigh and stretches an arm back, plucking another arrow from the quiver laced about his shoulders. He lifts his bow once more, steadying his aim as he places a shaft against the string and slowly pulls back.

Wrathion puffs his cheeks and spits again, another tiny fireball exploding against the bark of the tree. Anduin lets out a shout and stumbles, his cane clattering to the ground as he wobbles uncertainly before crashing to the ground with a cry of pain. Wrathion’s eyes widen, an apology on his lips as he moves to leap down to assist the prince. Before his claws have left the roof a flickering light catches his eye. He whips his head up and gapes in dismay; a spark from his fireball had caught on a dry lower branch of the tree. The fire quickly consumes the withered branches, flames trailing upwards as the heat began to crack the bark in two.

Anduin yells in alarm as his guards pour from the inn’s doorway, their tensed shoulders slacking with disbelief at the blaze quickly consuming the tree across from their ward. The closest soldier grabs Anduin by the shoulders, earning another gasp of pain from the prince as he’s hauled to his feet and dragged to the side. The rest of the infantry ran about in a mild panic, grabbing buckets and bowls to dip into the spring and toss onto the crackling flames.

With a nervous swallow Wrathion clambers across the roof and away from the scene unfolding behind the inn. He hops over the wooden shingles two at a time, sliding down the curve of a rafter before dropping onto a protruding column at the inn’s entrance. He leaps through the air and lands on a hanging lantern, tail and claws wrapping around the rope that swung with the sudden addition of his weight. His neck cranes out as he tries to peer inside the circular awning of the inn’s entrance. The lower floor seemed vacated – Tong and his own guards had no doubt rushed outside when the Alliance soldiers had begun to shout.

With a wary glance right and left, Wrathion releases his grip and drops to the floor, scrambling across the porch as quickly as he could before ducking inside. A quick survey of the room assured him that everyone had indeed left. He glances about the emptied tavern before his eyes land on the small iron stove tucked into the corner of the inn.

A nearby cry startles him into movement, skittering across the floor towards his target. Tiny claws latch onto the stove’s circular opening as he hauls himself up. He shoves his snout below the metal grate, craning his neck as he lifts the bars up and clambers into the glowing coals beneath. As he sinks his haunches into the embers his neck would lower, slowly placing the grate back down to avoid any metallic clangs that would reveal his whereabouts.

A deep, reverberating sigh echoes through his chest that he quickly muffles as a Blacktalon rushes inside, calling out for him. The dragon burrows deep into the coals, closing his eyes and placing his paws atop his head.

This was one task they’d have to manage without him.

—-

Hours ticked by as Wrathion lay motionless inside the stove, sinking deeper into the makeshift nest. The sounds of panicked cries and rapid footsteps had long faded from the now emptied inn. The earthy smoke that had wafted into the open inn had cleared several hours ago, and although Wrathion had not ventured from his hiding-hole, he was certain it had been properly contained and extinguished. Anduin had stormed in promptly after the din had quieted, leaving behind only a clipped statement that he would take his meal _alone_ and upstairs. Right and Left had uselessly set off to locate their prince when Wrathion had not returned or been found present at the fiery scene, and with his absence, the flow of champions seeking audience had ebbed away. Only Tong remained, busying himself with the cleaning left from the day’s occupants. The Pandaren man hummed a pleasant tune to the silent room as Wrathion shifted quietly amongst the embers of the stove. 

He could leave anytime, this much he knew. Tong would not say a word and it was doubtful that beyond a reproachful look Right and Left would object highly to him suddenly ‘appearing’ back in the inn without warning.

_Still…_ Wrathion flicks his tail and burrows his face into the coals. _Perhaps not yet_. He felt inexplicably secure here. It was a good way to wait out Anduin’s temper until the dragon was confident enough to test his standing with the human again.

A dull, metallic clang interrupts his thoughts as the dragon’s gaze flicks upward. Tong had slid two loafs of bread atop the metal grate that obscured him from view. Wrathion raises a brow as he looked the morsels over. They looked rather cooked already – perhaps the Pandaren simply meant to warm them for a midnight snack?

Wrathion sniffs the pastries delicately, eyeing their vulnerable underbellies with a slow lick of his lips. His vacant stomach gurgles in approval as he lifted his snout and snaps at the closest loaf, tearing a small chunk from the dough. He swallows it whole before tilting his head back and forth, eyeing the food above him. He suddenly lurches upwards, jaws clamping around the bread like a vice as he tugs at it with fierce jerks of his neck to yank bits through the metal bars piece by piece.

Finally the entire, thoroughly mangled loaf fell to the bottom of the stove as Wrathion eagerly snaps up the chunks before they burned to nothingness. He licked the crumbs from his lips and swiped at his snout, cleaning himself as best he could. Tong would no doubt credit the absent loaf as a slip of the mind – obviously the man had simply _thought_ he’d put two in. He’d never have to know.

“Enjoying my dinner, sir?”

Wrathion spat in alarm, backpedaling instinctively through the coals as Tong’s kind eyes peer into the stove. The Pandaren’s nose wrinkles with amusement as his gaze meets Wrathion’s, giving the small whelp a knowing wink. “It is alright. Everyone has left. Come out and have a drink with me.”

The dragon makes a low, grumbling noise as he arches his back, pushing the grate upwards as he clambers out of the stove. Tong smiles down at him as he shifts, smoke wafting off his growing form as he straightens up and lets out a small sigh. “I suppose nothing gets by you, does it Tong? How long did you know?”

“For a while now,” the Pandaren says with a smile, brushing off a single smudge of ash from Wrathion’s shoulderpads. “I am very aware of who or what is hiding in my inn.” The older man turns to wander to the nearby cabinet, opening the drawers with a soft creak as he fishes out a bottle and two glass cups. “Though,” he continues, standing to uncork the bottle, “I am surprised you did not tell your lady friends where you had hidden. You are worrying them.”

“They will manage,” Wrathion mutters with a dismissive wave of his hand, sinking into a nearby chair. “I expect they will return soon enough.” He runs a tired hand over his face as the Pandaren returns with the drinks in hand. He takes a proffered mug with a grateful nod and lifts it to his nose for a quick sniff.

“So,” Tong hums, settling into the chair opposite Wrathion. “It seems you and the Alliance prince are out of balance today. May I ask why?”

“We are not out of balance,” Wrathion grumbles, swirling the contents of his cup. “We’re… having a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding or no, you two are disrupting the peace,” Tong chides, a short sip punctuating his words. “A very small human fled here in tears and broke my favorite vase in her hurry. The guards have been on edge and my favorite tree has mysteriously burnt to the ground.” Wrathion averts his eyes from Tong at the last bit with an apologetic mumble. The Pandaren sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair. “So I ask again, Black Prince – what troubles you two?”

“It’s Anduin’s fault,” Wrathion blurts out, clenching his mug in mild embarrassment as Tong eyes him. “He started… just bragging about how many others he’s kissed. And he called me the worst of them all!”

Silence coats the room as Tong watches Wrathion thoughtfully, finger absently stroking the side of his drink. “Curious that the prince would say such cruel things unprovoked,” the man says finally. “Were you two at odds before that?”

“I… suppose,” Wrathion grunts reluctantly. “He came back with – well, you saw him didn’t you? Sporting that ridiculous bookcase and all?” Tong nods briefly before Wrathion continues. “He was trying to learn Draconic to impress his so-called aunt’s lover. Ridiculous.”

“Why is it ridiculous?” Tong queries.

“Well, it’s _Draconic_ ,” Wrathion answers with a roll of his eyes. “An ancient language for _dragons_. Not a party trick to be learned in a week.”

“Mmm,” the Pandaren hums, taking another drink from his mug. “Where did the talk of kissing come from? Something about the lover?”

“Yes, I suppose. I merely mentioned that Kalecgos – the lover, a dragon - was probably a… less than stellar kisser and Anduin simply flew off the handle!”

“Flew off the handle?” Tong repeats with a raised brow. “You mean he struck you? Raised his voice?”

“Well, no,” Wrathion admits, lowering his gaze to the floor. “He just said that I wasn’t allowed to make fun of anyone’s kissing because apparently I’m simply _awful_ at it.” His softened tone suddenly sharpened as his brow knit in anger. “He’s just got _so_ many others to compare me to!”

Tong lapses into silent thought as Wrathion struggled with the anger churning in his chest. The two stare at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by before the Pandaren spoke again.

“The prince’s ah, ‘so-called’ aunt… she is someone he values highly, correct?”

“Of course she is,” Wrathion snaps sullenly. “It doesn’t give him the right to mock me just for a little tease at the expense of her lover. He hardly knows that idiotic Blue.”

“Has she been through hard times?”

“What?”

“His aunt,” Tong prods, peering at Wrathion over his cup. “Has she been through hard times?”

“I… well, yes, I suppose,” Wrathion concedes. “Jaina Proudmoore has had anything but an easy life. She’s fighting on the Isle against the Horde as we speak, according to my sources.”

“Perhaps this prompted your prince’s defensive retorts,” Tong speculates, holding up a paw when Wrathion opened his mouth to interject. “I am not defending the things he said. I am looking at their root. Perhaps he felt an innate need to protect her from displeasing remarks. Regardless,” the Pandaren continues, speaking over Wrathion’s garbled protest. “If the mention of skillful lips and past caresses bother you, and I am not saying they do-”

“They don’t,” Wrathion retorts sullenly, earning a small smile from the older man.

“Regardless. I’d like to impart some words of wisdom.” Wrathion glowers at Tong for a brief moment before lowering his sulking gaze to the floor once more.

“If one dear to me imparted such words in my youth, I too would be disheartened. But in my age I see a glean of pride to be taken from them.”

Wrathion snorts loudly, refusing to raise his eyes to meet Tong’s. “Oh? And what is that?”

“If someone finds an aspect of you severely lacking, it hurts. It is always a painful thing to be compared, especially when you do not have many or any comparisons to draw of your own. But if they still stay with and treasure you, it simply means you are overly qualified in other areas the rest were lacking. Surely there are other things about you that you are certain he adores.”

“Perhaps,” Wrathion admits slowly, his shoulder slowly relaxing as he mulls Tong’s words over in his head. “Yes, naturally!” He cracks a broad grin and rises to his feet, running a pleased hand over his turban. “So what if he doesn’t like my kissing? I can learn! I’ll show him who’s eating who!”

Tong allows the briefest hint of amusement to flicker on his face before giving Wrathion a kind smile. “That is an admirable way of thinking, Black Prince. Now please. Go make up with your friend. I’d like my inn unscathed tomorrow.”

Wrathion nods eagerly, hurriedly placing his mug on his chair before turning to bound up the stairs two at a time. As he rounds the corner Tong shakes his head and chuckles to himself, stooping to pick up the emptied glass with a smile on his lips. The Pandaren suddenly pauses before hurrying to the other side of the room. He stoops low, peering into the stove for a few moments before letting out a pained sigh at the thoroughly charred block of bread within.

“The sacrifices I make for the young…”

—-

Minutes ticked by as Wrathion stares blankly at the barred door to Anduin’s room. The make-up had sounded easy when Tong had said it, but now he stood frozen on the precipice of an actual apology. His hand was raised in a knocking motion, but no matter how hard he berated himself in his head he couldn’t seem to bring himself to rap his knuckles upon the door.

Perhaps it would be easier in his whelp form? Curl up, make himself appear humble with wide, sad eyes. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Anduin’s last encounter with him like that had ended poorly, and he found the method distasteful unless under severe duress.

But wasn’t that the situation now? Wrathion muffles a grumble as he tucks his hands behind his back and furrows his brow. He had no idea of the prince’s emotional state. Everything he’d done today had only made it worse. Would Anduin simply slam the door back in his face before he could get a single word out? Wrathion stares hard at the floor as his feet began to move, pacing in circles as his thoughts grew grim. _Perhaps a present? Some sort of icon of the Light? Maybe a Chi-Ji kite? No, he’s too old for that. It’s improbable he-_

A loud slam interrupts Wrathion’s thoughts as he starts violently, whipping his head towards the suddenly opened door. Anduin stands in the entrance, hair disheveled and eyes narrowed as he looks Wrathion over with a scowl. Baggy jeans and a tattered tank-top accompanied a fresh bandage wrapped around the human’s right arm. Several new bruises now decorated the prince’s shoulder that caused Wrathion’s stomach to twinge with guilt. The human shifts upon his crutch for a few moments as the two stare at each other in silence.

“Are you going to pace outside all night or are you going to come in and spit out what you want to say?” Anduin finally growls. Wrathion opens and closes his mouth like a fish several times before Anduin heaves a sigh and motioned towards the bed with a quick jerk of his neck. “I don’t feel like standing here forever,” he quips, turning his back to the other as he hobbles back into his room.

After a brief moment Wrathion slinks in after him, eyes on the floor as he frantically tries to conjure the words he needed. Anduin ignores him for the moment as the boy gingerly placed his crutch against his nightstand before sinking face-first into his plush Pandaren bed.

Wrathion fiddles with his fingers as Anduin struggles with the sheets, torn between wanting to assist and fearing the other’s ire if he did. Finally the human settles in comfortably, smoothing down the bedcovers as he props himself comfortably against the headboard. Tired eyes look to Wrathion, sharpening as they roam over the dragon’s tentative grimace.

“Spit it out,” Anduin commands. His hands fold primly in his lap as Wrathion clears his throat.

“I’m attempting to find the right phrase,” Wrathion began.

“Don’t,” Anduin interrupts, his nose wrinkling with displeasure. “I don’t want to hear your silver-tongued excuses. I want you to say what you mean, now.”

Wrathion falters briefly, coughing once as he tries to compose himself once more. “I… mean to apologize to you, Prince Anduin.”

“For?”

The snappish retort dies in Wrathion’s throat as Anduin stares him down. “I have not behaved… admirably today.”

“No, you haven’t,” Anduin remarks, shifting slightly beneath the covers.

“My temper got the better of me over something foolish and embittered my relations with my champions and you. For that, I offer my deepest apologies.”

Anduin slowly closes his eyes, breaking the intense gaze that he’d held the dragon in. Wrathion’s shoulders slacken with brief relief as his eyes wander the room, looking anywhere but Anduin.

“I should apologize as well,” Anduin says finally as he opens his eyes and glances back to Wrathion. “I overheard you and Tong, and,” he continues, talking over Wrathion’s indignant sputter, “Although that conversation was not for my ears, he is right. I was too defensive and I spoke to hurt you.” A small sigh escapes the prince’s lips. “I am worried for Jaina of late. She is cold to everyone and she has aged so quickly. But I should not have taken it out on you, even if you were being a bit of a brat _all day_.” Anduin rolls his eyes once before lifting a hand and beckoning Wrathion over.

The dragon lets a small smile alight on his lips as he obediently crosses the room and pauses at the edge of Anduin’s bed. “Then I am forgiven?” he queries, a small gleam of hope in his eye as places a hesitant hand on the covers.

“For now,” Anduin chuckles, fingers clasping around the blanket’s edge as he lifts a corner aloft to allow Wrathion entry. The dragon gratefully slides inside, clothes dissipating in a wave of smoke as he burrows his way under the covers. His head pops out from beneath the sheets as he scoots upward to rest his cheek on Anduin’s chest. The gentle throb of the human’s heartbeat causes a pleased shiver to run down his spine as the human’s hand moves up to rest atop his head.

They lay like this for a few blissful moments, Wrathion listening to the thrum of Anduin’s heart as the other strokes his hair in gentle, circular motions. Wrathion chances a peek upwards to find Anduin staring contentedly across the room.

“I could, you know.”

“Hm?” Anduin murmurs, lowering his gaze back to Wrathion.

“I could teach you some Draconic. If you really wanted to know.” The dragon shifts uncomfortably, avoiding Anduin’s curious gaze.

“No,” the human decides after a few moments, lowering his head to press a chaste kiss against Wrathion’s temple. “I think it’s best left to dragons. I’d rather speak in Common than butcher his native tongue for lack of practice.”

“Are you sure?” Wrathion queries, hands planting in the mattress as he scoots himself upwards. “I can teach you a few phrases at least, **karkun**.”

Anduin suddenly shivers at the last word, a motion that does not go unnoticed by Wrathion as the dragon’s lips curl in a feral smile.

“My, my,” he purrs, tilting his head as Anduin’s cheeks flush. “Does my Prince enjoy the use of an ancient tongue? Or shall I say, **lok faramos rakkan**?” 

Anduin determinedly avoids Wrathion’s gaze as the other leans closer with a cheeky grin. “Stop it,” he says stiffly, turning his head away as Wrathion laughs and leans over to give his lips a quick peck.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Am I still the worst kisser?” Wrathion purrs, nuzzling the cusp of the prince’s ear.

“Perhaps,” Anduin mused. Wrathion snorts and jerks his head away before firm hands cup his face, yanking him forward as Anduin’s lips mush against his own. He huffs into the kiss before Anduin breaks away to smile at him. “But you are the one I’ve kissed the most.”

Wrathion’s lips twitch into a smile of his own. “I’ll be the last one, too,” he declares proudly, hands drifting low to give Anduin’s hips a firm squeeze.

“A bold declaration, Black Prince,” Anduin hums, arms lacing around Wrathion’s neck as he slides downwards to let the other loom over him. “How do you intend to break the news to my father?”

“I’ll fight him for you.”

“You’re going to fight the King of the Alliance?”

“I can take him,” Wrathion huffs. “I’ll just make it un-armed combat.”

“You know he was a gladiator, too.”

“Then a board game.”

Anduin laughs, arcing upwards as he presses a chaste kiss against Wrathion’s lips. “I look forward to the match. You know how I get when you roll dice.” He trails a finger down the other’s chest, delighting in the pleased rumble from Wrathion’s throat as he circles a splotchy patch of skin.

“Oh, I’ve seen how you get,” Wrathion purrs, leaning down to nip at the human’s ear. “And all of my champions have seen it too”. He shooshs Anduin with one clawed finger as the other opens his mouth to protest. “That hungry gleam in your eye when my fists clench the die. That guilty shiver as it clatters across the game board.” He kisses the tip of the Anduin’s nose as the blonde snickers beneath him. “Those wanton eyes when I take the lead, mm, we have watched you squirm there. Simply _consumed_ with lust for me, it’s quite indecent.”

“You are ridiculous,” Anduin snorts, reaching up to flick Wrathion’s ear before pulling him down for another kiss. Wrathion melts against the taut body beneath him, clawed hands wandering up and down Anduin’s eager form before finding purchase in golden hair.

The two settle in comfortably, enjoying the feeling of the other’s body shifting and grinding beneath the covers. It’s Anduin that pulls away first, nipping at Wrathion’s nose before resting his hands against the dragon’s bared shoulders. “Tomorrow,” he promises through hushed breath, planting a gentle kiss against Wrathion’s cheek as the other groans.

“You are a tease, Anduin Wrynn,” Wrathion grumbles, flopping down atop the human who gives a pained cough in return.

“I’m _sore_ ,” Anduin chides, rubbing the his shoulder with a wince. “Who’s fault is that, I wonder?”

“I blame the champions,” Wrathion grunts, shutting his eyes and burrowing his face into Anduin’s shirt.

“Stop blaming them for everything.”

“No.”

Anduin sighs deeply, settling down against his pillows as Wrathion shifts atop him to grant the human a bit more room to situate himself. Finally the pair stills as a comfortable silence cloaks the room. His tired eyes drift to the flickering flame of the last candle atop his stand. The wick sputters thrice before dying, only a thin plume of smoke wafting in the air of the darkness that cloaked the room. Anduin feels his lids begin to flutter and with a tired yawn, he slides downwards and lets his eyes slide firmly shut.

“Do you think your father’s any good at chess?”

“ _Good night_ , Wrathion.”


End file.
